


Happy Birthday, Randy (Part I) by Kim G. and Linda

by mickeym



Series: Randy and Michael [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, D/s, Established Relationship, Graphic Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-18
Updated: 2001-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Randy's birthday, and Michael has plans for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Randy (Part I) by Kim G. and Linda

 

September 18, 1998

  
Michael:    Gasping for breath, with my heart thundering in my chest, pounding in my ears, I forced my eyes open and gazed at the ceiling.  A ray of golden sunlight slipped over the plaster, a slice of warmth in the cozy darkness of our bedroom.  I could smell myself, smell us, the heavy scent of man and sex and sweat and heat.

I felt boneless, completely relaxed as only a really good massage, or a really intense orgasm will do.  Sometime or another, I'd probably want to regain control of my muscles, but for the moment, I was utterly willing to lie flat on my back in our bed, melted into the mattress, my legs open and draped across Randy's powerful biceps.  It was a Good Thing.

I licked my lips; I could still taste him, salty-bitter, on my tongue.  I'd pounced on him after my daybreak run, rolled him over and licked and sucked until he'd come to consciousness with a blurry, fuzzy "oh!" of surprise, and then later, literally had come in a copious, warm rush, curled almost completely around me.  After he'd spent a moment blinking owlishly in sated surprise, with me smiling smugly over him, he'd returned the favor---with interest.

Warm wetness slipped over my skin, from navel to the base of my cock; his tongue, licking sweat and come from my belly.  Blindly I reached down and my fingers slipped over his silky short hair, over one ear. 

"I think you've killed me," I said, finding my voice at last.

His laugh ghosted over my belly, sounding very pleased and self-satisfied.  He rubbed his cheek against my left inner thigh, and his beard rasped against the sensitive skin, making me shiver.  I felt the press of his teeth there, though he didn't bite hard enough to make me even twitch.

Randy:  "But what a way to go, huh?" Privately I thought it was probably up there at the top of the list for 'best ways to wake up'. Beat the alarm clock all to hell, for sure. He muttered some quiet noise in my direction, eyes still closed, body limp.

I stretched lazily, shuddered, and bit Michael again lightly before rolling away from him. Bad as I wanted to stay in bed and play, we both had to go to work this morning. I had an interview this afternoon. Second interview; I wasn't sure how many rounds there would be. I knew a lot of top-notch scientists and researchers were applying for the spots being opened by the Foundation. It was proving to be stiff competition.

The groundbreaking ceremony last week was interesting, to say the least. My first real look into the *other* world Michael inhabited. We went to the ceremony and dinner afterward, separately; I sat with my department and listened to Michael give a speech, then listened to the Mayor of Berkeley and several members of the city council and chamber of commerce do the same. It was a big deal all around and not just from a scientific point of view, though that was what interested me the most, of course. Jobs created to build the buildings and to staff them was money put back into the economy in the form of wages and monies spent. Local jobs, local increase in economy. Never a bad thing. Lots of photo ops too, the press snapping picture after picture of Michael in a hard hat, cutting the ribbon where the foundation would be laid. A small cluster of buildings were being loaned by the university that sat adjacent to this project, but they were short-term loans, not part of the permanent site.

It was really odd, though in a good way, to see the other side of my partner. Most of the time I could forget -- made it a point to -- who he was. What "Pierson" meant, beyond just his surname. I knew he was head of the corporation…but it didn't really mean much to me beyond having the knowledge, so it was good I got to see him in his element, so to speak.

I shook myself out of my reverie and slapped the side of his leg encouragingly. "C'mon, slug. After that you definitely need a shower. If you get up now, I can suck you off again while you shampoo." I gave him an evil grin and shifted up off the bed, flexing my back muscles which hadn't appreciated the curled-in position I'd held for a while.

Michael:  I opened my eyes in time to watch him stretch, naked, at the bedside, muscles shifting fluidly beneath his smooth skin, tanned to a light honey color that was quite lovely.  Amusing, how the roles were reversed now...give him sex in the morning, and he became alert, full of vim and vigor, whilst I grew sleepy and wanted to nap a bit.

I rolled my head on the pillow, and glanced at the clock.  No time for napping, unfortunately.  I sighed and rolled off the bed, following him into the bath.  "I'm fairly certain that's it for awhile...I'm elderly, remember?  But it's a wonderful thought."

Randy snorted inelegantly and started the shower whilst I brushed my teeth.  The minty zing helped to wake me up, and stepping beneath the shower did the rest.  I braced myself against the shower wall, and allowed him to soap me as I stretched and hummed happily beneath his attentions.  Clean, I took the sponge from him and washed him.  He stirred, and probably could have gotten hard and come again, but we really didn't have the time, so I gave him a consoling stroke and then we were out, drying off, shaving, and all the other morning rituals.

Randy:            I studied the contents of my part of the closet for a moment, then chose a black two-piece suit and hung it on the back of chair outside the door before pulling a white dress-shirt out after it. "I need a tie, darlin'. Something classy, dignified--" I owned three, maybe; ties didn't figure heavily into my wardrobe style. One of the ties I owned was a Bugs Bunny tie that I thought was really cool but probably wouldn't go over very well with the people I was going to try and impress this afternoon. Sandy gave it to me last year for my birthday; I was half suspecting she'd send Daffy Duck this year. Michael rolled his eyes at me, but opened the door that held the rack of ties and studied them for a moment before taking out a black one with jade and white geometrical patterns on it and handing it to me. I looked at it and nodded, then shrugged into my shirt, *hating* that these interviews kept being scheduled on Fridays -- generally my dress-down-into-boots-and-jeans day. "That'll work, thanks."

Michael:  I plucked the tie from his fingers, and stepped behind him, draping it around his neck and tying it neatly, though leaving it loose until he buttoned up.  He smelled wonderful, and I pressed a kiss to his neck and smoothed my hands over his chest and belly once more before stepping back and letting him finish dressing.  It seemed that I couldn't be close and not touch him.

"Shall I wish you luck, or is that tempting fate?" 

He flashed a quick, bright grin, and warmth squeezed gently around my heart.  I returned it and slipped into my suit jacket.  "How would you like to go out to dinner tonight?"

Randy:            "Do I get wine and roses with it?" I laughed and ducked the handkerchief he lobbed at me, then picked it up off the bed and folded it neatly just so before stuffing it into my jacket pocket. God, I hated suits. "Thanks; needed one of those, too." He smirked at me then gestured for me to lead into the main living area. "Dinner out sounds good," I headed for the coffeepot while Michael made a beeline for the stove to heat water for his tea. Some things we just couldn't do differently, no matter how we tried. "But does that mean you're gonna make me cook my own dinner for my birthday, tomorrow?"

Michael:  I laughed.  "I'd think not.  I was thinking perhaps we might take a little trip into the mountains.  I've a cabin there, if that sounds appealing.  Fresh air, lovely scenery, hiking, swimming...how does that sound?"

Randy: "We could...or we could stay here," I reached up into the cupboard for my big mug and a slightly smaller one for Michael's tea. He was in the process of slicing bagels for us and once I had the cups down and out, I turned to fridge. "I'd rather do cabin and mountains when we could have more time to enjoy it -- you said it's several hours from here, right? And do you want cream cheese, or peanut butter and jelly?"

Michael: "Cheese," I answered, pouring water into the teapot, and setting it and the cups onto a tray before carrying them out to the table.  Miles was in bed with the flu; I'd practically had to order him to stay put in his flat and get better.

Ah, well.  Randy was right; perhaps the cabin would be better later.  Still, it was a lovely place, and I'd not been there since before I'd met him; I rather missed it.  Later, he might take some holiday time off, and we could spend time there.

Randy: I frowned into the fridge.

"We have way too many choices in here," I rummaged around until I found plain and strawberry flavored for him, and the cheddar-jalopeno for me. Of course there was onion-chive, too... "How the hell did we end up with so many different flavors? Do we eat bagels that often?" I straightened up and closed the door and grinned at the smirk Michael gave me. He was already settling things on the table and I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes before we needed to be out the door. "I'll take a couple days off next month and we can go commune with nature, darlin'. I really want to see it, after all you've told me about it. I just don't want to have to get there and turn around twelve hours later."

Michael: "A better plan," I agreed, and sat down to prepare my tea.  I saw his smirk out of the corner of my eye, and ignored it.  I was a creature of habit in certain things, yes, and he found it very amusing.  "Next month will be fine.  It won't be too cold up there yet.  Perfect hiking weather."

I watched as he settled in, balancing his cup of coffee gingerly.  "Why are you wearing a suit today?  I though this was your slum day."

Randy: "Normally it is," I blew once on the cup, then downed the first couple of swallows, ignoring Michael's wince. He just didn't understand the whole idea behind *really* hot coffee -- and I doubted I would be able to explain it at this late date. I sighed and sipped again, then reached for my bagel. "I've got some meetings today where boots and jeans are not fully appreciated for the aesthetic qualities they add." He snorted, but I could see the glitter in his eyes. "Anyway, what time did you want to head out for dinner? Try to beat the first wave, or come home and relax then go for a later dinner?"

Michael: "I'm leaving the office early today, so it really doesn't matter.  If you'd like to come home, and change clothes, and then go to dinner later, that would be fine.  If you'd like, we can go to the Jade Garden, or if you'd rather have your half-cow, we can go somewhere else.  Your choice, Caro."  I nudged him with my foot beneath the table and grinned at him.

Randy: "You slacking off and playing hooky without me? I'm crushed, Pierson." I nudged him back and returned the grin. "Chinese would be great; I can always do the beef thing...later." I managed a passing fair imitation of coy and seductive then finished off my coffee before glancing at my watch. "Shit, we need to get goin', darlin'. You driving yourself in today, or do you want a lift?" Privately, I doubted that would happen, at least not yet. We weren't out to anyone at work -- unless you counted Erich, which I didn't -- so it was unlikely he'd let me drop him off at the main building. Time enough for that at a later date.

Michael: "Driving myself in," I replied, and took the last sip of tea in my cup before piling everything back onto the tray and returning it to the kitchen.  "I was thinking about going out to see Sheila and Murphy this afternoon." 

That much was true, but I also had to meet with Paul and finalize details on Randy's birthday gift; he was a very precise person and liked to have all details ironed out.  It would actually work out better if we went to dinner later.

Randy: "God, totally slacking." I gave him another grin. "'Course, it's a good slacking. And I can't complain about those kick-ass boots, either." I'd had fantasies about those boots, though nothing I wanted to share with anyone -- including myself. It's one thing to be submissive; it's something else altogether, I'd discovered, to even approach admitting to yourself that you want to lick someone's boots. I still couldn't really go there in my head. But that didn't mean I didn't like to look at them. Or touch them.

I gave myself a shake and pushed back from the table, gathering things up as I went. Kitchen wouldn't be as spotless as we usually left it, but I could wash up when I got home. I wasn't happy Miles was sick, but it was kind of nice to have a breather. "I should be home by six or six-thirty; we can shoot for eight for dinner, if you want."

Michael: "Sounds like a plan," I said, and handed him his satchel, my bag with my riding clothes already in hand.

His mouth was sweet and warm beneath mine, and I felt a quiver tingle down my spine when his big hand crept around to the nape of my neck, as his fingers stroked the sensitive skin there.  He was like an addiction, but one I never wished to find a cure for.  When I pulled back, his eyes fluttered open, pupils dark against the bright green of irises, and he leaned in toward me again.  I smiled and stepped back a little; we didn't have time to dally, as much as I'd like.

"After today, we've the whole weekend," I said.  "Your birthday weekend.  I'm very much looking forward to it, Caro."

Randy: There was just something in the way he said that, that made me wonder what he had planned. Because in my nearly five months of experience -- admittedly, some of it on-again, off-again -- with Michael Pierson, I knew there wasn't much he left *un*planned. Spontaneity was a good thing, but didn't happen very often, and when it did, it was generally at my urging. "I'm looking forward to it, too," I said softly. We'd talked about different things, what I wanted for my birthday. I'd given him a short list, books and videos, mostly, with a couple special items on there that couldn't be given to me by anyone else. I wanted a piercing and I wanted time with Sir. We'd see what was in the works, wouldn't we?

And meanwhile, if I didn't lurch my mind back to the present, and work, I was going to have a hard time walking, since my dick tended to think that 'Sir' was a very nice thought. I leaned in and gave him one more quick kiss, a swipe of lips. "See you tonight, darlin'."

*******

Second round of interviewing done. Well over an hour and all I got at the end was a handshake and a "we'll be in touch, Dr. Taylor." Kind of lousy, if you asked me. Of course, what was I expecting? Voluble praise and worship? As if. I'm good; I had the potential to be one of the best in my field. But I wasn't there yet and I hadn't paid my dues. There were a lot far more experienced researchers out there who'd paid far more dues than I had who deserved one of these spots. Which didn't mean I wanted someone else to get it, just that I knew what my chances were. So, we'd see. My credentials, my work spoke for itself. And I was so glad, once again, that I decided not to tell Michael about this. Not 'til it was a done deal, one way or the other. I didn't want to wonder if he could or would influence things. If I got it, it would be on my own merit.

It was getting cooler as I made my way home, windows rolled down and breeze streaming in. I had to admit it was nice not having the hour-long -- at least -- commute that I had when I lived in Berkeley, and that made me smile because if I did get lucky enough to get the researcher position I'd be right back to where I started. Though actually, it might be okay, because I'd be doing the reverse flow of traffic thing. Whatever. It was over and moot for the moment and with luck Michael would already be home and relaxed from an afternoon of riding and we could go have dinner then fuck ourselves silly. Or vice versa; I wasn't inclined to feel particular either way.

I let myself into the condo and dropped my satchel on the floor beside the door, reaching for the tie to whisk it off. I'd loosened it the minute I got in the truck but decided to wait 'til I got home to do the rest. I heard the soft sounds of jazz, something smoky and seductive, and called out, "Michael? You home, darlin'?"

Michael: "In here," I called from the bedroom.  Wrapped in a towel after my shower, my hair still wet, I stood in the closet and pondered clothing.  Randy had teased me unmercifully that I wore only black, and basically, he was right.  My mouth quirked in a grin

Randy: "Ahh, trying to decide whether to wear black, or black?" I threw my suit jacket onto the back of the high-backed chair by the closet -- placed there for just such purposes, I'd decided -- and added the tie to it. I could smell the steam from the shower rolling out in thick, warm clouds; it was lightly scented with sandalwood and the spicy scent of Michael's cologne. "And you shaved again. Just for me?" I grinned at the dirty look I got, then stepped forward to get a kiss, glad the day was over, glad to be home in the quiet, peace and privacy of our own home. "Did you and Murph have a good time today?"

Michael: "Yes, I did," I replied, and leaned back against him as his arm went about my waist, big hand splaying warmly against my belly.  "Although I did take a fall going over a hedge...."  I twisted a little and raised my left arm; there on the back of it a bruise bloomed, and I tugged aside the towel to show him one growing on my left thigh.  I shrugged.  "Nothing much, really."

Randy: "Oh, no, nothing much," I parroted his comment with a low-watt glare, then kissed the offending spot on his arm. "At least you'll match your clothing; you could consider it camouflage, or something." I kissed his neck, then scraped my teeth lightly over freshly-shaved skin, enjoying when he wiggled back against me, head turned and neck arched to give me more space. I bit gently, flicked my tongue over the soft skin. "You taste good, darlin'...we could just dine in here."

Michael: I shivered, and not from cold.  His hand dipped lower on my belly, drawing patterns of desire on my skin, and I felt him growing firm against my arse.  "Or we could go later," I said at last. 

His chuckle was low and smutty against my throat, a little vibrating tickle on my skin.  I felt a tug on the towel, and then he whisked it away, flinging it into the room behind us.  Areas south took a distinct interest, and I hardened beneath the brush of his fingertips.  Wonderful, my body said, bloody wonderful. I leaned forward a little, and braced myself against the shelving, opening my legs a little. 

"In the closet?  How very kinky," I said, turning my head slightly to flash him a grin.  "I never knew you had a clothing fetish...."

Randy: I slapped his ass very lightly and sucked on the fold of skin I'd been worrying with my teeth. "I have a lot of fetishes, but unless we're talking leather clothing here..." I trailed off and kissed his neck again, pushing into him so I could rub against the firmness of his ass as I reached around to grasp his cock, stroking lightly in rhythm with my rubbing. I leaned in closer and bit his earlobe, then sucked on it. "Wanna fuck me, darlin'? Turn the tables on me, and spread me out like you are now?"

Michael: "Hmm," I purred.  "Perhaps."

I wriggled like an eel, and turned in his arms.  He grinned at me, all fire and hunger, and I slid my hand down his belly to cup him, hard beneath the fine wool of his trousers.  "Not here," I said, and leaned in to lick over his throat; he shivered.  I pulled back to smile at him as I tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his trousers.  His belly shivered beneath my fingertips, and I hooked my fingers in his belt and backed out of the closet, pulling him with me.  I wanted room to work.

He followed obediently, grinning like a madman, unbuttoning his shirt even as I worked at his belt.  He flung the shirt from him as I pulled the belt with a whisking sound from about his waist and my fingers started on button and zip.

"Well, well...boxers.  What a novelty," I teased, as his trousers dropped to the floor and he stepped out of them.  "I'm *so* turned on by them."  I grinned at him, and added, "Ooh, baby, you make me so hot," in my best porn actor voice.

Randy: "It just feels wrong to go commando in a suit," I managed through my laugh. Laughter and sex, what better combination could there be? I tossed my pants and boxers onto the chair; the shirt and belt joined them shortly, then I skimmed my socks off.  I was as naked as he was now, my cock hard though not fully erect. Unlike him. I slipped to my knees in front of him and leaned in to lick along the full length, pushing his 'skin back as I went. He smelled fresh, clean, and I appreciated that. I heard a soft gasp, then strong fingers clenched tightly into my hair, drawing me in closer.

I smiled up once, then reached out to rake my fingernails lightly over strong thighs before cupping his sac, his balls beginning to draw up against his body as his arousal grew. Even if I didn't like domination, this was the best, purest form of worship, to get on my knees and suck his cock. I licked the tip, then drew it into my mouth to begin sucking and licking the entirety.

Michael: I ran my fingertips through his soft hair, over the curve of his ears, over the long thick lashes.  Beautiful.  His eyes flickered open, dark and aroused, watching me as I watched him, and the sense of connection, of togetherness, was so great in that one moment I almost came.

No, too soon.  Gently I pulled away from him, ignoring his protest, and tugged at him until he stood before me once more, mouth pink and swollen from suckling me.  I wrapped my arms around him and toppled him backward onto the bed, my legs entwining with his, my mouth hungry and demanding.  His hips moved against mine, hard and questing, and then he flipped me to my back, pinning me beneath him, his grip fierce; I'd have even more bruises tomorrow.  But I didn't care.

I pulled away from his mouth, and he went right for the throat; he knew my weaknesses, the bastard.  I grunted as his cock dug into my belly and as his teeth fastened onto my neck; I bucked beneath him, so aroused I could barely think.

"Caro," I gasped.  "Wait...I need a ring...."

Randy: "No... you need to come," I grunted, sucking hard on the spot I'd just bitten. He bucked under me again, groaning as he arched upward. He made a soft, inarticulate noise when I shifted backward, his dick rubbing against the cleft of my ass, making me clench hard at the thought of him sliding in there. I scooted back just a little more, wishing not for the first time that guys self-lubricated like women did, then leaned in to lick at the spot now beginning to bruise just beneath where his shirt collar would rest. He panted roughly beneath me but he wasn't bucking like a moment ago and I smiled hungrily as I leaned backward a little. "You want to fuck me on my hands and knees, or want me to ride?"

Michael: Hands and knees, and I'd not last a moment.  I curled my fingers around his cock and stroked.  "Ride," I said hoarsely. 

He laughed softly, and leaned over me to reach into the bedside table for the lube.  I curled up into him and sucked at his nipples, hard and pebbled beneath my lips and tongue.  The left one I scored with my teeth, and he grunted and shivered.  He leaned over me, arms bracing himself, and allowed me to suckle and nip and lick as I stroked him.  His cock was slick in my hand, and his nipples hard and hot as I worked them.  I could feel him tremble, feel the surge of his hips, hear the sounds he made.  I kissed his throat, and offered him my mouth; he took it, hungry and voracious, pressing me down into the mattress.  After a moment, I pushed at him, pulling my mouth away.  "Make yourself ready," I gasped.  "Now."

Randy: "Yes." My voice was hoarse, my mouth dry. I tossed him the cockring I'd found lying beside the lube, then swung myself around and over so I was more-or-less kneeling in front of him, with my ass facing him so he could watch. I loved doing this, having him watch while I did something, and lately Michael'd taken to calling me an exhibitionist. I couldn't really refute it; if the shoe fits, and all that.

I squeezed some lube out onto two of my fingers, then reached around to slip them inside me. The cool gel was a shock against how hot I felt inside, and I shivered all the way down at the sensation. Michael groaned softly behind me and I wasn't sure if it was from snapping on the ring or from the little show I was putting on for him. I shifted and braced myself on my one hand then fucked my fingers in and out slowly, letting him see me all slick and open and ready for him. When I slid my fingers back out and swung around again I wasn't surprised at all to see his eyes nearly black, all pupil, watching me with hunger burning outward in waves.

Michael: The ring I'd snapped around me would prevent me from losing it so quickly; a very good thing, as his little show had wholly enflamed me.  I wanted him, and right now; my fingers went about his hips and pulled him into place.  He rose up onto his knees, reached back behind him; I felt his fingers wrap around the base of my cock, steadying me.  He drew a deep breath, and then sank down upon me. 

Heat, and tightness; we both made a sound of pleasure as he paused, body adjusting to mine.  A moment, and he pushed down as I thrust upward, and then I was seated firmly within him, his heat rippling around me.

Randy: "Fuck," I managed, completely breathless, aching from penetration and need. "You're just...god. Deep, Michael--" He groaned when I shifted, and my growl matched it. I loved this position. I could feel him practically coming out my throat and his cock hit perfectly against my prostate, a long, gliding stroke with each one he took. I raised up and rocked back down, shuddering with pleasure. His hands were hot against my skin where he was gripping my hips, holding me steady. I looked down, his eyes burned into mine, full of lust, want, need. Love. Always that, but right now I wanted the others. I wanted him to burn with lust like I was.

I leaned forward enough to finger his nipples, pinching and pulling as he ground upward into me. He loosed one hand and reciprocated, his fingers teasing roughly at my left nipple, working it over until it was red and hot, swollen and throbbing from attentions. I arched upward into the touch, thrust my chest forward as I rode him, hot shivers slicing through me. "Michael...Jesus...."

Michael:          As good as it felt to have him tease me, I wanted more to watch him come.  I peeled his hands from my chest, and wrapped his hands about his hard, red cock.  He didn't need instruction; he began stroking himself with ferocious intentness.  I loved to watch; he looked lost in sensation, lost in what we together could make.  A flush began coloring his skin from tight, dark pink nipples upward, and his breath came as hard as my own.  Sweat sheened across his skin, dampened his hair at forehead and nape of  his neck.  His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and I wanted to drag him down to kiss him, to suck on his tongue, but didn't; I enjoyed watching him too much.  His body sheathed me, hot and damp and tight, his weight driving his body down upon mine, and I thrust up into him, so deep.  Glorious.  Though pinned by his weight, I felt as if I could fly.

Randy: "Good...oh, god..." I wanted to tell him how good it felt but my brain had seized. Or my vocal chords. Something. Everything. All I could do was rock and shift and stroke myself and just go with how good it felt. Michael was hard and soft beneath me and it made my belly clench with increased hunger every time I looked into his eyes and saw him staring back at me, hungry, feral, ready for more. I shifted so I could move faster, and tightened my internal muscles, clenching hard around him. He reached up and pinched one of his nipples and one of mine at the same time, and I groaned and shuddered, knowing we were both close.

Michael:          Just a little more...just a little...I reached in between our bodies, and pressed hard against his perineum, just behind his sac, and he thrashed wildly, a sharp cry escaping him just before he shuddered and came hard, his seed spurting from him in long white ropes, splattering me across chest and throat.  His body tightened around me, and I saw stars.

Randy:            I think we both sounded like freight trains, or wild animals growling and snarling at each other, but oh, god, it felt so good. I could feel him pulsing and throbbing inside me and it blended and melded with my own body's rhythms. I kept stroking, milking myself, holding myself down on Michael's cock until the pulses were no longer discernable and all that was left was our breathing, rough and ragged, in short bursts as we tried to breathe. I groaned again when he dragged his fingers through the mess I'd left and sucked them clean, then did it again and pressed them to my lips. It was sexy, really sexy to clean his fingers that tasted like me.

Michael: I pulled him down atop me and rolled us to the side, my mouth on his, pulling out of him with a wet sound.  I was still hard, the cockring still on.  I licked at his mouth, tasting him, tasting me, and whispered, "Over."  Lazily he moved, sliding onto his belly with a soft sigh and a shimmy of his hips.  He was open and slick with gel, ready for me, and I moved between his legs and pulled his hips up.  Leaning in, I bit at a round, firm arsecheek and he grunted, and wriggled beneath my hands.  He moved to raise to his hands and knees, but I pushed him down firmly between the shoulderblades, and he stayed, chest down, arse up.  Lovely. 

Sliding into him was easy, and I went deep.  He moaned loudly, a deep, rich sound, and I reached between us to unsnap the cock ring and drop it to the coverlet beside him.  His hand reached out, fingers closing about the bit of leather, and he brought it to his lips, his tongue flashing out pinkly to lick at it as I thrust into him again.

Randy:            I loved it when arousal and sex turned from external to internal, and that was where we were now, for me. Michael was still working on the external -- okay, all sex is internal, to a point -- and that was more than fine with me. But it was like having something inside me that was alive, and not, a feeling so intense, so powerful, so big, it made me feel complete just by virtue of it being there. I felt that way with him, like this, when we'd made love, whether slow and easy or rough and hard, but we weren't finished. When he could fuck me over and over again and make me take it and I did, so willingly, eager to spread myself open and just feel him. Like now. I grunted and pushed back, licking and sucking at the ring he'd worn until my mouth was drier than it'd been before. All I could taste was leather and sex and I could smell me, and his musk, and it was like becoming lost in a haze that was a space of it's own, in a way, similar to, but having nothing to do with subspace. It was Michael's space, a place only he could fill up. I knew there'd never be anyone else who could do it quite like he did.

Michael: Tight and deep inside him, I felt so free.  I was his, wholly, body and soul, flesh and emotions.  I was connected to him, a part of him, and he was a part of me.  I rocked slow and deep into him, my hands smoothing over his hips, over his flanks, the little dip in his spine just before his arsecheeks separated, the place that held me so securely.  The long line of his back stretched before me, and his head was turned so I could see his profile, soft and dreamy and his mind somewhere I could only guess.  His mouth curved in a smile as I moved within him.  Beautiful.

I could feel my own orgasm tingling down my spine, into the backs of my legs, into my belly.  I sped up, giving myself over into the hot, blissful rush, and with a short, sharp cry I came, driving deeply into him, pouring myself, giving him everything.  Gasping, I fell forward onto him, and slowly, we slid to the sheets, still sheathed within him. 

He murmured something soft, not a protest, and his arm curled back, his fingers stroking gently along my arm and then my shoulder.

Randy:             "Nice birthday present," I said softly, when I could think in coherent sentences again. "Bit early, but nice." He laughed softly, his breath tickling my neck, then he bit me gently. I shivered beneath him, not from cold, but from one more sensation on my already overloaded system. After a few minutes, he moved one hand to twine fingers with me and then he was still.

 We lay together like that for a while, Michael a warm, comfortable weight on top of me, his hand covering mine, until I felt him slip slowly from me. Then I twisted beneath him until we were on our sides, face-to-face. I touched his mouth with mine. "Love you."

Michael:          Sated and tired, sleepiness lurking around the corner of my consciousness, I smiled against his mouth.  He so seldom actually said the words; his feelings must have been particularly close to the surface right then. 

"And I love you, Caro," I replied blurrily.  I wrapped my arms about him and pulled him tightly to me, one leg slung over his hip.  My belly slid against his, wet with sweat and come.  He made a happy sound and shifted a little, and I buried my face in his throat.  He was so warm, so strong, so real.  He made me feel real, as if I had only truly existed since I'd met him.  It was a wholly maudlin thought, and I chided myself for it, but it remained true, nonetheless.  "And this, as good as it is, isn't your only present."

Randy:             "Ooh, got me that kinky leather-and-studs outfit I saw in JT's Leather Room last week, hmm?" He was only this side of conscious now, but the urge to tease him was too great. I kissed his mouth again, then his nose, then nuzzled under his jaw. "You're not going to go to sleep on me, are you? Dinner...must feed me..." I nuzzled again, then nipped gently. "Otherwise, I might be forced to forage--"

Michael:          I buried my face in his throat, and laughed, then faded away into sleep for a while.  When I woke, it was dark, and Randy lay quietly beneath me, wound in my arms and legs, fingers running through my hair.  Peaceful and lovely.  He'd teased gently that I needed a haircut, but then he wore his own almost military short, and anything more meant long hair to him.

A slow, leisurely shower followed, and then both of us dressed in denims and casual shirts, we wandered out into the night for dinner.  I fed him his half-a-cow from his favorite steakhouse, and then we ended up walking aimlessly, looking at this and that, watching couples of all descriptions out for their own after-dinner strolling.  I enjoyed people-watching; I was curious about lives other than my own, and Randy indulged me, slowing his long-legged pace to match my more leisurely one.

Randy:             The streets were alive tonight, and the air had a cooler, crisper feel to it than even just a week ago. I was glad; in the time I'd spent both in Massachusetts and out here, I'd come to enjoy fall. And while San Francisco didn't get as "fallish" as Mass did, it still beat Texas all out.

Michael was watching people as we meandered through the crowds, and it was interesting to watch him watching them. It really made me wonder what his life as a child had been like, because he always seemed so surprised by things I just took for ordinary. I nudged his shoulder when we passed Starbucks; it was one of the few coffeehouses I could get him to go into with me, and that was only because he would drink their hot chocolate. Me, I'd discovered their Cafe Mocha one day totally by accident -- and how awful could something be that combined coffee *and* chocolate?

We ended up sitting outside, sipping and watching people pass by the tables. "You said you were going to give me a hint about what you had planned -- you still gonna do that?" I took another drink and tried to gauge the expression on his face in the dimness. He'd been teasing me for a couple weeks now about his plans for my birthday and could I please keep the whole weekend open -- which I did -- but now, on the eve, I had to be honest and admit I was dying of curiosity.

Michael:          I leaned back in my chair, crossed my legs at the ankles, and grinned at him.  "You have been uncharacteristically patient with me, I'll grant you that.  Perhaps you do deserve a hint or two." 

His expression was one of fond exasperation, and he nudged my feet beneath the table. 

"This weekend we shan't be staying home.  I've borrowed the townhouse of a friend, in exchange for a week at the mountain cabin, which I thought a most fair exchange.  This weekend, you shan't have to think...just experience."

 

Randy:             I leaned back in my chair, smiled when I realized I was mirroring his posture. Josh teased me once in a while about how Michael and I were bookends -- so alike in many ways. I didn't see that many likenesses, rather, I saw our differences that complemented each other. But whatever. No thinking, just experiencing. In all likelihood that meant a session of some sort, which in turn made my belly tighten pleasantly. I took another swallow of my drink. "All weekend?"

Michael:          "From Saturday morning until Sunday afternoon.  Of course, you can call a halt to it at any time."  But I didn't think he would, once he got into it.  We'd played off and on, little games, mostly harmless, easy; this would be his first long session, and I had high hopes for it.  Randy was eager, flexible, adaptable, and thrived on new experiences.  I thought he'd like this experience, very much.  "Just you and I, for that period of time...no cell phones, no beepers, no intrusion of the outside world."  I smiled.  "Except for a visitor," I added.

Randy:             "A visitor?" I stared at him, absolutely unable to imagine who it might be. Which was probably the whole idea, but nevertheless. And right behind my curiosity over who the visitor might be was a tiny, but growing, spot of warmth at the idea of being seen...trussed up, or marked up, or anything else. I mentally rolled my eyes at myself and shook my head. "Sounds a helluva lot better than the balloons and cake they had for me at the office this afternoon." I smiled wryly. "Of course, if Karen ever presented me with a weekend like you're planning, I'd probably have her committed."

 

Michael:          My grin broadened.  "I'm certain she wouldn't," I replied.  I'd met Karen once, a thoroughly lovely but vanilla sort of girl.

Randy:             "You scare me when you get that gleam in your eye," I winked at him, then tossed back the rest of my coffee. "C'mon, let's walk some more." Michael tossed the rest of his chocolate back then climbed to his feet and followed me back onto the sidewalk. We passed some little stores -- art galleries, tattoo shops, t-shirt and souvenir places, piercing parlors, restaurants. All manners and makes of retail heaven. I cast a glance at Michael. "Did you give any more thought to what I said about getting my nipple pierced?"

Michael:          "I've given it considerable thought," I replied, my hands in my pockets as I looked at a display of pottery in a storefront window.  Randy folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the building, his head slightly cocked, looking at me, and I blinked.  "However, if you look like that, I can't possibly think of anything other than sex," I replied.  A slow, sinful, wicked grin slipped over his face, and I returned it.  I pushed past him, tweaking his left nipple sharply.  "It was this one, yes?"

Randy:             "Yeah, that was the one." A smart, quick throbbing worked its way through me and I squashed down the urge to ask Michael to do it again. "I wonder if it really makes that much difference in sensitivity and all that." He was leading now, down the street to make a sharp turn that would lead us to Castro Street. I raised one eyebrow. "Did you forget to tell me we're going clubbing, or something?"

Michael:          "I'm doing that *spontaneous* thing you say I never do," I returned flippantly.  He'd never really seen me as spontaneous...at least, not in the way I'd been in my youth, so I couldn't blame him much for thinking me rather...well, *non*spontaneous.

The first club we passed, as well as the second and third, had far too young a clientele---I knew that some of the men I saw lounging around outside, displaying their...assets...were barely out of school.  Blonds, brunettes, a scattering of redheads---all potentially trouble.  They liked what they saw in Randy, and one boy with obviously bleached blond hair and a smooth, lithe body was bold enough to follow us for quite awhile, trying to chat him up.  I hadn't seen Randy's ears turn pink for quite awhile, so I found it terribly amusing.

We lost his young admirer after we ducked into a bar that looked as if it catered to an older, and perhaps rougher, crowd.  Within, the scent of man, and leather, and sex, was strong and almost heady enough to make my head spin.  The lights were subdued, it was smoky, and everything took on a dreamlike quality.  Eyes turned to us, assessing, speculating, and I returned the looks with equal curiosity.  I slid my arm about Randy's waist and pulled him closer as I stepped up to the bar and hitched myself halfway onto a barstool.

Randy:             There are, in my not-very-experienced experience, several different types of bars down here. There are the nightclubs where you go to dance, the bars where you go to have a drink or two and maybe unwind, and there are then two sub-categories of those: the bars that have an aura of 'other things' and the ones that are pretty much blatant sex-clubs. We'd stepped into one that spoke of other things; you could smell it in the air--it was a heavy scent.

A lot of the guys were wearing denim so we didn't stand out like sore thumbs, but the dress code was heavily emphasizing leather. The hanky code was also very obviously in use in here; I saw any number of red, yellow, brown, black, blue, green and so on. I smiled and wondered if Michael had much experience with that; his experience with clubs and scenes and whatnot seemed to be a whole different...flavor, for lack of a better word.

I took the beer he ordered for me and made a face when I took a pull on it; beer wasn't my favorite beverage, but I would drink one from time-to-time. This seemed to be a good time. Several guys edged close to us, closer than they needed to be, because while it was crowded, it wasn't terribly crowded. Not like some of the trendier places would be. For the heavy-duty crowd down here, it was still early yet, just a little past nine-thirty now. Michael had that...unapproachable expression on his face when I slid my gaze over to him, the one that said 'hands off, he's mine'. For a weird moment I wished I had a collar on because then ownership would be undeniable. But he was doing pretty well with his expression, and his arm wrapped around me. I didn't take a barstool; for some reason it seemed presumptuous. If he wanted me to sit, I would. I shifted a little closer and took another drink of my beer. "So, what're we doing here, exactly?"

 

Michael:          "Nothing in particular, though we did shake your admirer," I said, and squeezed his arsecheek.  "I do believe he was quite...attached to your arse just a few moment ago, in spite of the fact that I told him to piss off."  I grinned at him, and took a drink of my beer.  Paugh.  Terrible, but we weren't out for the taste, after all.

Randy:             "Was that what you said to him? Poor kid, to have his hopes dashed so early in the night." I sighed dramatically then grinned back. "But you can't fault his taste, can you?" I wiggled against his arm and got a light swat on the butt for my troubles. I took another drink. The more I drank, the less awful it tasted. I wondered vaguely if I was getting buzzed. Off one beer. God, I was a cheap date. "They have a cool dress-code in this room," I nodded my chin subtly in the direction of a man wearing worn denim with chaps over, and an open vest. He had on motorcycle gloves and a hat set at a rakish angle. Both nipples were pierced, and a heavy chain connected the two. He had on heavy boots that, when I looked at them for a long moment, set off a strangely familiar roll in my stomach. I looked back at my beer, and whispered, "Boots."

Michael:          "You are *so* easy," I whispered back, leaning to touch my lips to his ear.  He shivered, but whether from the man in the boots, or my whisper, I wasn't certain.  A terrible, wonderful urge took control.  "I've those lovely tall riding boots," I whispered, low and suggestively.  "I'll wear them this weekend for you, yes?  You can be naked before me, and I'll allow you to touch them, and if you're very good and obedient, I'll allow you to lick them...."

Randy:             I swallowed hard and was more than a little surprised to realize my hand was shaking when I raised my beer again. Did he have some sort of mirror, to see inside me? To see what was there: fondest wishes, deepest secrets, desires and needs and things I didn't like...didn't want to show anyone? "How the hell did you know?" I hissed the words, suddenly irrationally angry and turned-on all at the same time. I went from relaxed and teasing and hard and straining within my jeans and we'd exchanged maybe a couple of sentences. I set the bottle back down, my mind playing his words over and over, showing me a picture of myself, kneeling, then lower, my head bowed as I licked-- . I recoiled from it, and could feel the blush burning up my neck and onto my cheeks. "Jesus."

Michael:          He was turned with his back to the room, and I slid a hand down the front of his denims.  He was as hard as steel beneath the heavy material, and I smiled.  He looked pissed, and turned on, and terribly sexy, his green eyes dilated darkly in arousal.  He tried to wriggle away from my hand, but I didn't allow it.  "I know many things," I said softly.  "I know *you*."

Randy:             "That's...a little scary, Michael." I bit my lip and rocked into his hand once, thinking about how long it'd been since someone knew me this well. Or had anyone ever known me like he does? Probably not, upon reflection. I was angry because I was scared: he knew me that well, could anticipate things, but...what happened if I lost him? Would I disappear then, too? And on to the *other* disturbing side of that coin, what was up with the boot thing, anyway? Never mind how could Michael know...how could I want that? Why did I want that? I wanted to laugh, so smart about so many things, but so stupid about others...about the little things that probably didn't trip most people up. It was time to do some research online and in the bookstores, I supposed. There had to be material out there on bdsm, and kinks and fetishes. Didn't there? I swallowed heavily and rubbed forward once more, not as hard as a few minutes ago, but still throbbing. "I'd...like...to do that, Michael."

Michael:          I slid my hand between his thighs and gave his sac a gentle squeeze.  His cock, half-hard, came to rigid attention beneath the denim.  Anger, embarrassment, desire, anticipation, and other strong emotions warred just beneath the surface, so close, so easily read.  He was like an open book to me, almost free of pretensions and guile. 

A rush of heat, of passion, of possession jolted through me, firing my blood.  I reached up, hand closing over the nape of his neck, and pulled his face down to mine to kiss.  His mouth opened willingly, cool and yeasty from the beer, but heating rapidly as my tongue stroked over his.  I stirred beneath my own denims, and took his hand and moved it to cover my own cock. 

He made a rough sound in my mouth and pressed closer.  The noise of the bar, the hum of voices, the hard rock music, faded away, and all I could hear was our rough breathing and the rush of blood in my head.

 

Randy:             I couldn't believe we were making out, groping each other, here in a public place. Of course, given what other things probably went on here, what we were doing was probably the least spectacular -- or potentially offensive --  to other patrons. I pulled against Michael's hand nonetheless, thinking we shouldn't be doing this here, even though the idea of someone seeing us...watching us...was admittedly arousing.

He wouldn't let me go. Didn't budge an inch; if anything, his tongue swirled faster inside my mouth and his hand on my cock gripped tighter. I wanted to back away, wanted to touch him, wanted to crawl inside him. And most of all, I wanted to drop to my knees and rub against him, beg him to let me suck him, to feel him throbbing hot and hard in my mouth. I shuddered and pulled again and this time he let me go, but not far, his hand stopping my backward movement. I swallowed roughly. "Michael...please...."

Michael:          He had pulled away, but my fingers in his belt kept him from retreating very far.  His color was high, his eyes hugely dilated, his breathing quick and ragged.  I had the sudden urge to chase, to overpower, to conquer, but suppressed it ruthlessly.  He stared at me a moment, then seemed to shake himself and look about before stepping closer again.  The men closest to us looked both amused and interested, and how could they not be?  He was gorgeous---totally edible.  Aroused, and arousing.  His cock pressed against the front of his denims, leaving nothing to the imagination.

I felt an elbow lightly in my ribs, and turned my head, eyes narrowed.  A man perhaps between my age and Randy's stood next to me, leaning in a little more closely than necessary.  He had light blue eyes, and a slightly crooked nose.  Bright rings adorned both ears, and his head was shaved.  He was compact and nicely built, his tee shirt stretching tightly over an impressive chest.  I could see that both nipples were pierced, and erect.  Black leather chaps were skin-tight over faded denims, the light blue fabric highlighting a hefty erection.

"Pretty," he said, his voice low and as growly as a bear's.  "Interested in sharing?"

Randy:             I had the wildest urge to turn tail and run just then, and wasn't completely sure why. It wasn't that the idea of a threesome scared me; in fact, Michael and I had talked about it against the possibility of one day doing it. Not yet, there were still so many things we had to learn about one another, but the possibility remained open.

No, at that moment it was probably more that I felt totally out of control -- which wasn't much true, either, I supposed. Michael's hand was still entwined in my belt, holding me near. His eyes were dark, the grey obscured by black pupil when I looked closer at him. I knew that look, it was the one Sir used when he looked at me...when we did our training and the light scening we'd done. I shivered and was surprised the newcomer didn't do the same when Michael turned those eyes on him, but maybe it didn't have the same effect on him. Or he just didn't show it. I held my breath and waited for Michael's response, because honestly, at that moment, I was way over my head and out of my league.

Michael:          I was tempted to tell him to piss off, but he'd been polite, and with the little show we'd just put on, I could understand his interest, though other couples were far more blatantly erotic in what they were doing.  I felt Randy quiver, though in the dimness of the bar, I didn't think that anyone else noticed.

"No, I think not.  Not this time."  Though my words were polite, my voice was husky.  "Perhaps next."

"A shame," he replied, after a lingering look at Randy.  He cast a glance at me again, and I let the shark look out of my eyes for a moment.  His blue eyes blinked, and then he grinned.  "Can't blame you," he said, and melted back into the crowd.

Randy:             The fingers gripping me eased and Michael pulled back with nothing more than a rub against me. My breath left in one long sigh and I moved in close to him again, feeling oddly...bereft? I wasn't sure that was the right word, but it would have to do for the moment. "Thank you," I said softly. "I don't know..." I took a drink of my now-warm beer, then turned the bottle round between my palms, not looking at Michael, not sure what I wanted to ask him, but knowing I had something inside wanting out. "Did you...ever feel...not uncomfortable, exactly, but...maybe unsure...? When you were experimenting...doing training." I clarified, because for all Michael knew, I was talking about life in general. I doubted he didn't know what I was talking about, but clarification never hurt. I swung my gaze around then to meet his. "I...want so many things, but some of them...I don't know where the wanting comes from. I don't know how to sort it all out."

Michael:          I turned to face the bar, as he did, and his shoulder rubbed against mine.  I put one hand on his forearm, and the muscles were like iron bands beneath my fingers.  I stroked gently.  Perhaps I'd gone too far, too quickly.  "I was afraid," I said, leaning close so he could hear me over the noise.  "Fucking terrified.  Julian, for all that he was small and slim and boyish, had *power* that I'll never have.  I was very intimidated by him and what he wanted me to do, but I was so...so hungry for the experience that I leapt in.  Half the time I spent with him, I cursed myself roundly, and the other half...well, it was a vastly...illuminating experience.  I don't regret it.  I had an idea of what I was getting into, and had played a bit with various friends, but was totally unprepared for the enormity of what it really entailed.  The giving up of control.  It is not...easy for me.  I understand how difficult it really is, Caro."

Randy:             I smiled wryly and signaled the bartender, ordering two Ice Houses before sliding just a little closer, eradicating any open space between Michael and I. Now that the moment was past, it felt like a mild panic attack and I shook my head. "I know I didn't realize...and it's nothing to do with not wanting...probably like you did, wanting it so much." I took my fresh beer gratefully; even if it was still beer, at least it was cold. "It's kind of like...someone who's been starved and now has food." Michael grinned at me at the imagery I was using and I shrugged. "It's true. I have to keep reminding myself it's not all going to go away in a day or two or ten. That I don't have to sample everything right this minute, because I have time to eat slowly and savor." At least, I hoped like hell I had that time. Falling in love with Michael had done wonders for making me believe in forever, but it'd also reinstilled a healthy fear of what the fates could do to a person by yanking that forever away. I nudged his shoulder gently. "Do I still get my birthday present?"

Michael:          I bumped his hip with mine, earning a grin.  He was still on unsteady ground, but recovering, or covering, as the case might be, fairly well.  "Yes.  We'll leave early in the morning.  I have our bags packed...all you have to do is to wake up."

Randy:             I breathed a sigh of relief, hoped it was a quiet one. "So tell me something. When you were asking if I wanted to go to your cabin in the mountains...what if I'd said yes? I mean, you have this...thing," I smiled, thinking of how much was encompassed by that one word, "all planned out...but it would've been for naught if I'd said 'yeah, Michael, I want to do some hiking this weekend'. So then what?"

Michael:          "I'm not the king of inflexibility that you seem to think I am," I said with a smile.  "After you said you'd rather go to the cabin at a later date, I talked to Paul and we arranged the trade of the condo for the cabin.  The original offer was use of the corporate jet to Rome at Christmas, so I came off rather better in the long run.  His partner decided that he'd rather holiday in the States with his family.  So a week at the mountain cabin appealed more at the moment."  Paul's lover, Matt, was, in my opinion, thoroughly spoiled and far too pampered for his own good, but Paul doted upon him.  He was marvelous to look at and had a petulant sort of appeal, but rather too high-maintenance for my tastes.  I much preferred Randy and his honesty and simple tastes.

Randy:            Of course, if this Paul fellow had the jet at Christmastime, the likelihood of Michael being home -- here, in California -- with me was that much greater. I should've said yes to the damn cabin. I sighed, not even wanting to go there in my head…and realizing that sooner or later, we were going to have to. But not tonight. Definitely not tonight. I drained about half my beer and leaned into Michael. "So, the show starts tomorrow when I wake up… what'd you want to do tonight? Anything? Hang here a while…go further into the District, take in a drag show, go to Blow Buddies, what?" I grinned at him.

Michael:          I laughed; I couldn't help it.  "The world is my oyster, eh?"  I tossed down the last of my beer.  "Let's see what we can do, shall we?"  I wasn't particularly afraid of recognition; I looked different in denims and a plain shirt, my hair tumbling down over my forehead, than I did in corporate armor---the Armanis, the Italian loafers, the hair combed back from my face.  Relaxed, I was the man and not the shark, and the difference was acute.  I slid my arm about Randy's waist, gave his arsecheek a squeeze, and pressed a kiss to the side of his throat.  "Whatever you'd like to do...this is your weekend, after all."

Randy:             "Hmm." I turned my head and kissed him, this time a quick, sweet kiss, then grinned. "Decisions, decisions. We could always go back home and listen to the BeeGees or watch John Wayne, too." I laughed when he swatted my ass, then left his hand there to linger, cupping and caressing me. I liked this, playful with intensity lurking beneath the surface. "Could we go home and get a head start on the weekend's activities?" I leaned closer, my lips just the barest distance from his ear. "I had such an urge just a few minutes ago to fall on my knees and beg you to let me suck you off."

Michael:          I could feel heat roll up my neck, onto my cheekbones, into the tips of my ears.  The words, delivered in a sultry whisper, drawled in that honeyed accent, made my cock, half-hard, go instantly as hard as steel, throbbing behind denim.  The visual made me ache.  My fingers tightened on his arse.  "You could.  You could do it now."  I nodded toward the shadows at the back of the bar; I'd seen men moving in and out of those shadows, and knew what they were doing back there.  Randy followed my gaze and then looked back at me his green eyes widening.

Randy:             The idea was both terribly exciting and faintly terrifying all at once, but I opted to go with the 'exciting' and ignore the rest of it. It wasn't like I was really afraid to do it, more just the unease of the unknown and the new. But the pulsing excitement that came with the idea was strong and I swallowed, feeling my body react to Michael's obvious interest, to the idea of being public and anonymous all at once.

I nodded shortly and dug inside my jeans -- now too tight -- to drop a couple of ones on the bar for the bartender, then looked at Michael expectantly. "Okay."

 

Michael:          The bar had gotten more crowded as we'd had our beers, and it was hard to slice through the men, but I had determination.  I ignored the gropes, the little pets I got, and hoped Randy had the sense to do likewise and not lose his temper and pop someone.  A bar fight wasn't how I wanted to end the evening.

At the back of the bar was a doorway to another room, an area clear of tables or anything, dimly lit, filled with customers with other things in mind.  The sharp scent of semen and latex and sweat made my nose twitch, and as I waded in, Randy in tow, the sounds of sucking and moans, and even the wet sound of flesh against flesh drowned out the heavy rock music, though I could feel it pounding through the soles of my trainers.  I almost tripped over someone's big booted feet, and elbowed someone else out of my way who wanted to be a little friendlier than I cared to be.  Finesse was not something that would work here. 

I half-turned, knotted my fingers in Randy's soft shirt, and pulled him in, backing him into the wall.  He hit it with a little "oof" sound, rebounded, and grabbed my shirt in return.  I came willingly, and pressed him against the wall, crowding him, taking his space for my own.  I leaned in and bit his neck.  "This reminds me of my misspent and corrupt youth," I said breathlessly into  his ear.  He shivered, fingers tightening in my shirt before he turned his head and bit me back.  I released his shirt and groped his cock, squeezing hard.  "Anonymous fucks, anonymous mouths sucking.  Giving and taking.  Come on.  On your knees and suck me like you wanted to do.  Make it good."

 

Randy:             "Yes," I mumbled against his neck, scoring him there one more time before I sank downward. I fumbled with my glasses, nearly dropped them, then tucked them into my pocket for safekeeping. Michael touched my head, his fingers tightening in my hair when I kissed his belly just above the waistband of his jeans. Echoing through my brain was that he'd done this before...backrooms of bars, semi-public sex...and I shuddered, wondering when. Where. With who?

I didn't care enough to ask him right then, though, instead I concentrated on opening his jeans and reaching inside the silk boxers. He was hot and hard, fully erect, the tip of his cock damp where it poked out from his 'skin. I licked him, smearing the taste over my tongue, then sucked him deep, no preliminaries. I wanted to taste him and I wanted it like it was around us, fast, hard and hot.

Michael:          I grunted and my hand tightened in his hair as he sucked me in deeply, without any hesitation.  Quick and hot---I could do that.  I made my hand slide from his hair and jerked my denims and boxers down to mid-thigh so I could widen my stance, then braced both hands against the wall for balance and closed my eyes and let his skill wash over me.  He wasn't gentle; his hands gripped me, the one on my hip dug in deeply, certain to leave bruises, and the other bit into my inner thigh.  The occasional scrape of his teeth as he really abandoned himself to it was heady indeed---a bit of painful spice.  I rocked into him and he took me, willingly.  I couldn't hold in the moans, and in a moment, mine joined those of the others around us.

Randy:             I closed my eyes and lost myself in the feel of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth, my throat, hard/soft skin slick with my spit, the head flared and thick, lodging in me before slipping free again. I savored the warmth of his body pressing close to me, the way my cock was pressed achingly hard against my jeans, my balls throbbing with each beat of my heart. I could hear grunts and moans all around us, including Michael's, over my head, and it made my heart pound faster. I gripped him tighter, pulled him closer to me at the same time I let him slide out of my mouth. I opened my eyes and tilted my head up to look at him; his eyes, when he looked down at me, were so hot they burned and sliced through me. "Fuck my mouth, please...hard, fast...give it to me, Michael. Take...take what you want."

Michael:          I stood practically atop him; he knelt between my spread legs, his back almost against the wall.  I'd deliberately put him against the wall to keep others from touching him; he was mine.  A feral grin slashed across my face as I looked at him looking up at me, hungry and needy.  At some point he'd taken off his glasses, and his eyes were huge and dark, and even in the dimness, I could see the flush on his cheeks, the redness of his mouth, swollen from sucking me. 

I reached down and skimmed my fingertips down the bridge of his nose, and over his wet mouth.  He lipped at my fingers, then sucked them in, looking at me, and I burned with passion and lust.  I pulled my fingers free and wrapped them around my slick cock, and leaned in a little, rubbing it against his cheek, against his lips, leaving a wet smear over his skin.  He arched toward me, seeking to suck me in, and I gripped his hair with my free hand.  It was too short to get a good grip, sliding through my fingers like the pelt of a mink.

"Open up," I said hoarsely, rubbing the hot, red head of my cock against his lower lip.  "Open up and take it."

 

Randy:             I moaned softly, agreement, appreciation, something. A noise. I was so hot, so hungry, and I wanted him to use me so bad. Give it to me and make me take it. Please. It was all I wanted, just then. The feelings of serving him...servicing him...I'd had earlier, were still burning strong in my belly. I opened my mouth and he rubbed against me again, teasing me. Pulling back when I wanted to suck him in, laughing soft and low when I whimpered and pushed my head forward, trying to get to him. "Please...please..." He teased me again, then pushed against me, making me take it just like I wanted. I ached to do this and swallowed slowly, taking him inside, my own cock throbbing harshly where it was confined inside my jeans. I let go of Michael's hip to rub myself and he caught my hand, squeezed roughly, a short, sharp sound of negativity. I whimpered, then put my hand back, leaning my head back to open up further for him.

Michael:          This wasn't about his pleasure...not now, at least not directly; I knew that denying him was a pleasure of its own for him.  He loved the dominance, the denial, the feeling of being used, a receptacle.  I could do that.  My pleasure now was wholly selfish; later, I'd make sure he came, and as hard as I knew I would. 

I pushed into his mouth, short shallow thrusts over lips and tongue, giving him a moment to accept, then stroked in more deeply.  So wet, so hot, so slick.  Perfect.  More deeply, and I slid past palate and into the softness of the back of his throat, until I could feel his nose against my belly.  His hands closed over my arse, pulling me in tightly, in impossibly deep, and it was heaven.

Randy:             Oh, god, it was good. Better than good, wonderful. I shuddered and relaxed, accepting his thrusts, letting him set the rhythm, the pace, letting him take what he wanted from me, offering it up freely. I wondered vaguely if one could take something that was offered, but dismissed it as unimportant; the dynamic we had between us worked. Michael knew what I wanted, knew I offered, and took to satisfy his needs -- knowing he was fulfilling mine at the same time. Perfect.

Giving head like this wasn't even much work for me, sucking only as he slid past my tongue, random strokes to tease and inflame him further. It was really more swallowing around him, making myself as accessible as possible for his pleasure. His hands slid through my hair, gripping as tightly as he could -- maybe I would have to grow it out just a little bit -- adjusting the angle of my head so he could thrust harder, faster, deeper. I moaned low in my throat, echoing the sounds all around us, the sounds Michael was making.

Michael:          I settled into a rhythm, deep and hard, and not once did he gag; in a corner of my mind I was very proud of him.  He opened and took, offered himself completely.  It was perfect, and of course, it could not last long.  My sac drew up close to my body, my thrusts went uncoordinated as I felt my coming streaking up from the soles of my feet, hard and powerful and all consuming.  Blinded by the power of it, I gasped, thrust deeply, and let it go, spilling into his body in long pulses.

Randy:             I swallowed automatically, then drew back off him so I could taste him on my tongue. What was the point in sucking him off, if I didn't get to taste some of it? The harsh flavor settled over my tastebuds, spreading as he spurted once or twice more, his hands tight in my hair, pulling almost painfully. I sighed and cradled him closer when he'd finished coming, listening to the sound of his breathing, rough and ragged, as I licked him clean of his spendings, my tongue tracing over territory I knew by heart.

My entire body throbbed with arousal and I shuddered when Michael rubbed slowly against me, almost as if he were painting me with his scent, marking his territory. I wanted to reach for myself, but knew he didn't want me to do that yet. We'd reached a point tonight, not quite submission, but close, treading over that very fine line that defined parts of our relationship. I kissed the tip of his cock and muttered, "I liked that."

Michael:          I drew a deep breath, and the scents all around me made me dizzy.  I leaned against the wall with one hand, and with the other, grabbed Randy by the collar and tugged.  I had no strength to pull him up, but he came easily, and let me press him against the wall and lean into him.  I pressed my sweaty face into his neck, and his arm went about me and pulled me close.  I was aware of him tugging up my denims and boxers. 

"Bloody fucking fantastic," I said into his ear.  "You're so damn good."  I pressed closer to him and fumbled for his mouth.  He tasted of me, a salty-bitter overlay of the beer and his own taste.  He bucked into me, and he was so hard, so rigid, it had to be painful.

 

Randy:             "God--" Another touch like that one and I would explode, whether he wanted me to or not. He pressed again, stroking through my jeans, and I sucked a long breath in, hissing through my teeth when he rubbed harder. I could feel my legs shaking and looked out over Michael's shoulder, desperate for something to distract me, even momentarily. Looking around only fueled the fire; we were in the backroom of the bar, a room obviously intended for nothing more than sucking, groping, kissing, whatever. It was dim, but that made it more seductive, watching slick shadows gliding against each other, the motions and noises supplying what vision couldn't. It was as maddening as Michael's firm, but not-quite-firm-enough touches. I shuddered again and turned my face back to his for another kiss, whimpered when he stole my breath again. "Please," I managed hoarsely. "Let me come...please..."

 

Michael:          It took a firm determination to untangle him from me, but I managed to get him turned toward the wall.  I licked the back of his neck, and he shuddered hugely.  I placed my hands on his broad shoulders and ran my hands down his arms, bringing them up and placing them on the wall.  When he realized I wanted him to stay that way, I slowly retraced the path of my hands, licking and sucking at the back of his neck until he shook almost continuously beneath me.

I ran my hands down his sides, untucked the knit shirt and pushed it up, baring his wide, muscled back, his belly.  My feet nudged at his booted feet until he spread them more widely for me, and canted his hips back a little.  Perfect.  I licked over the bumps of his spine as I reached around him and unbuttoned his denims. 

He made some sort of mewling sound, almost lost in the others all around us.  I slid my hands up his belly; his muscles were rigid with holding in his coming.  I bit his left shoulderblade as I spread my fingers over his chest, rubbed against nipples as hard as little pebbles. 

I could hear him, softly saying 'please, please', and I sent my right hand questing down his belly as my left worried his nipples, pinching and twisting with just the pressure he loved.

His cock was hugely swollen, slick and so hot.  I tugged a little, and his hips went with the movement, pumping against me.  I ran my hand down and then up, squeezing a little at the head.  I sucked on the sweaty skin of his back, and then smiled.

"Come for me," I said, and pumped hard.

Randy:             I didn't even have to try. Didn't have to work for it. He stroked me, teased me, then whispered those three words in my ear and it was all over. Heat swept through my body like a firestorm, pumping out of me in hot, thick pulses that coated Michael's hand and dripped back onto my fiery skin. I wished in that moment, for a snowbank to be somewhere nearby, because I was on fire. Every inch of me felt as though it were blazing, as if liquid fire were pouring from me, rather than semen. I could close my eyes -- they were closed -- and imagine we were alone, or imagine that every other pair of eyes in the room were watching our slick shadows, as I'd watched just a few moments ago. I shook harder and groaned, pumping into Michael's hand one more time as a final spasm ripped through me. I leaned into the wall panting, grateful for the slight tinge of cool the tile beneath my cheek provided.

It scared and amazed me by turns that Michael could do this to me so easily. That we fit together so well. That we were so good together, in such a short time. Most couples had months upon months of that awkward, settling in stage. Allowing for the fact that you can't cover everything about thirty-odd years of life in just a few months, Michael and I were long past that. I wanted to cry at the same time I wanted to rejoice. I settled for moving back against him, a slow, easy caress, turning my head to the side, my lips forming the words, "Thank you," very softly against his mouth.

Michael:          "And thank you," I said with a smile.  I caressed his chest and belly gently, leaving a wet trail over his skin, rubbing it in.  I gave him one last kiss on the nape of his neck, and stepped back slightly to tuck him in and pull up his denims.

A dark shadow started to slip between him and the wall, obviously wanting to suck Randy, and I gave the man a rough shove with my foot.

"Piss *off*, you poxy beggar," I snapped, and he rose from his crouch, half-angry, but I towered over him by several inches, and I was by far more intimidating with possessive indignation.  He frowned, faded back, and began nuzzling the groin of the man next to us. 

I buttoned Randy's fly and turned him back to me.  One last, hard kiss, and I tugged him behind me, wading through the crowd, aiming for the door like an arrow.

Randy:             We didn't pause on our way out of the bar and I had to pull on Michael's arm to slow him down when we were on the street again. It felt like he was tugging mine off.

It was obviously Friday night now; the streets were full of--everyone. Gays, lesbians, queens in drag, women more butch than either Michael or I would ever be, leather daddies and everything in between. One thing to be said about Castro after dark: it wasn't boring. I nodded at a couple all decked out in leather passing us on the other side of the street. "We could do that, couldn't we? Come down here, dressed like that...like this," I gestured to what we were wearing now, then realized why everything was so out-of-focus, and fished my glasses back out of my shirt. "No one would ever know who we are." I realized I liked the idea of anonymity, but even as I said it, I knew it would never come to pass.

Michael:          There was anonymous and *anonymous*, public and *public*, and though Randy might want to come out decked in leathers like the others, I didn't think that was something I could probably do.  This was stretching it as far as I dared.  If he wanted to be seen, I knew all sorts of people, had all kinds of connections to private homes and clubs where he could indulge himself.  But in public?  Probably never, unless the world changed radically overnight.

So I smiled at him, and nudged him gently with my elbow.  "You're such the exhibitionist," I teased.  "So tell me...do I still qualify as Mr. Non-spontaneous?"

Randy:             I smiled and elbowed him back. "You've earned points in the right direction, definitely. We'll have to work on it some more, I think, before we can proclaim you cured, though." I gave him my best over-the-rim-of-my-glasses look, like I often did with the first year biology students. It had considerably less effect on him. "It's a helluva way to kick off my birthday weekend, though." I eyed him, holding my grin back only through sheerest effort. "You're always complaining you're so aged and decrepit; you sure you're...up...to anything else, after tonight?"

Michael:          "A good night's sleep, and I'll be just as good as new," I promised.  "I have remarkable recuperative powers, as I'm certain you've duly noted." 

That did make him laugh, and I was insufferably pleased about it.  I patted his shoulder companionably, and by that time, we were back to the Mercedes, blending in with the last-emerging diners at the restaurant.  A moment more, and we were on our way home.

"All you have to do is sleep well, and when you wake up, I'll take care of everything from that point.  You just relax, and go with the flow of things."

Randy:             I eyed him, considering, and made a pointed effort to not look out the window. Michael didn't like my driving, said it was too fast, too...impulsive. Well, he drove for too many years on the wrong side of the road. I wasn't sure I trusted his knowing where he was, now. Never mind he'd been over here for a good fifteen years or so. That wasn't the point.

"I don't know if it's that easy," I said quietly, earning a small smile from him. He knew damn well it *wasn't*. "But I'm looking forward to it." I reached out and took his free hand, resting on his thigh. "I'm pretty sure this is the first birthday I've actually looked forward to in a long time. And actually," I squeezed his hand, "the activities lined up are only a part of it."

Michael:          I flashed him a smile and squeezed his hand in return.  After awhile he hummed softly to the Coltrane CD I had in the player, and began to relax.  It was good to see; he was tense a great deal of the time.

Once we got back home, I tossed him into the shower, scrubbed him, and popped him into bed.  He protested it was far too early to sleep, but after I sat on him and rubbed and kneaded his shoulders and back with some lovely evergreen-scented massage oil, his protests died away.  Odd, how a massage will do that. 

He was almost asleep when I returned from washing my hands, and I curled up next to him beneath the blankets.  With a sigh, he wrapped himself about me securely.

Randy:             Everything was fuzzy, hazy as my brain faded slowly to black. I wasn't used to winding down this early, but I had to admit, when Michael was determined to get something to happen, it generally did. I shifted closer to him, settling myself within his embrace, and gave over to the darkness edging at me. Birthdays happened every year, pretty much on schedule, regardless of whatever other things might've happened during the year. This was the first one I really was genuinely looking forward to in more years than I could remember. I couldn't wait to see what he had planned for the weekend, but whatever it was -- highs, lows, good or bad -- it wouldn't matter in the end. It was spending it with Michael. I smiled fuzzily and nuzzled at him, drifting away to a warm, dark place that still felt safe.

~finis~

 


End file.
